


Five Times John Took a Taxi and One Time He Decided to Walk

by AurorFelicis3755



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sherlock Secret Santa, Sherlock Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-27 21:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17170136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AurorFelicis3755/pseuds/AurorFelicis3755
Summary: As Christmas draws closer, John finds himself drawn closer to his companion, Sherlock.A Secret Santa gift for fin-amour - I hope you like it, and have a very happy Christmas and 2019, you and all our loved ones.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FinAmour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinAmour/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his way to Baker Street for the first time, John contemplates the strange man he met at St Bart’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the motivational forces of ThePersianSlipper, TodayWeAreSoldiers and SherlockedCarmilla/CarmillaCarmine for telling me to stop sleeping and write this damn thing! This fic literally would not exist without them.

John Watson was in a black cab, crawling painfully slowly through jammed London streets to an address he’d heard on the lips of a stranger. This was truly mad.

An unusual man, an extraordinary man, a man who knew things he shouldn’t’ve been able to - John thought he should have been wary of him, but very little scared him since coming home from Afghanistan. Just one thing left that he fears, really: a normal life. The doctors and therapists who had worked with him after he was injured had said the goal was to return to “normal life”, and yet, the very thought of it… anything would be preferable. Anything.

So, this man. Sherlock Holmes. He’d met him once, googled his name, read his website - but basically, a complete stranger. On the other hand, he’d definitely made an impression on John, he couldn’t deny that. He’d replayed their conversation over and over in his mind, and those extraordinary powers of mind-reading, or whatever that trick was, astonished him every time. Not only that; he was unable to stop thinking about the way the man had held himself with such confidence, his calm, logical, yet ridiculous way of speaking, and his charming manner. He gazed, he smiled, he winked - at John, the old man with the limp! He had no idea what to expect from Sherlock next, and found this uncertainty through a rush of excitement somewhere deep within him.

The taxi pulled up at 221B Baker Street. Surely a far too posh place for John to be able to afford, he thought, disappointed. He was not a well off man, and having to travel so much by cab because of this damned leg was taking its share of his army pension. Anyway, such a dazzling man as Sherlock Holmes would never want to live with someone as boring as John Watson, injured army doctor. He would enjoy it while it lasted, he decided, opening the door of the cab.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John go on a case together, and the taxi ride proves inspiring for both of them.

A week since moving in to 221B Baker Street, John found himself in another taxi, speeding through twisting London roads to the east. A string of break-ins ending in a murder had caught Sherlock’s attention enough for him to have left the flat and rushed to hail a taxi, ordering John to come too. For some reason, John was always expected to come too, and he was more than willing to oblige - somehow, John found adventure with Sherlock Holmes difficult to resist.

The taxi passed through Mile End as the two passengers sat in silence, Sherlock deep in thought, John watching the city pass by out of the window.

“The first break-in was at this off-license, John. Three days ago.” Sherlock gestured out of the window on John’s side of the taxi. “After it was closed, between 2 and 3am. But no one approaches from the street. An invisible burglar.”

“Hiding in the shadows?” John suggested.

“Hm.” Sherlock clearly thought that unlikely. John wondered, again, why he was in the taxi at all.

They passed down a few more streets, towards Hackney. Another break-in site. Sighing with exasperation, Sherlock showed him on a map where the crime scenes were, marked with red crosses across east London.

“All in a line, working north-east, and then suddenly a twist in the line heading north-west to Clapton. Or maybe they aren’t in a line at all? Maybe drawing the sides of a square? That leaves the culprit in the centre of the square, so obviously enclosing the area he operates from - must be a red herring. Or maybe he’s not that clever - wouldn’t have to be to fool Scotland Yard. But why these shops and homes. Why choose these ones. Especially when it all went wrong on the last break-in, and he had to murder; that was clumsy. He can’t be selecting the most vulnerable places. So there must be another link.”

John looked at where they were on the map.

“All surrounded by parks? Maybe they hide in the bushes, no CCTV to observe them, and break in that way?”

“Of course not, John, use your eyes, the canal is in the way- _oh!_ ” Sherlock’s face lit up with a glow of excitement that only a really good case could give him. “The canals! The robberies in Mile End, Hackney and Stratford were all buildings which backed onto the Hertford Union Canal! And of course, the junction in the canal meant he had to change direction - he went north-west towards the Hackney Cut, and stopped in Clapton on the way to perform another quick job, and that’s the one that went wrong.” He grabbed his phone and slammed in some numbers. “Lestrade? Lestrade?! Canal boats! Look for the killer on a canal boat, he’ll be somewhere north-west of the Hackney Cut by now and the weapon and blood-stained clothes should be in the water, I presume. I can’t believe you didn’t get this one, I solved it in the taxi, hadn’t even arrived at the scene!”

Sherlock’s face was glowing with pride, and he grinned at John, a silent thanks for his help. He couldn’t see how this had happened, but somehow he was useful to this incredibly intelligent man. As a team they solved cases twice as fast, with John being a more cooperative assistant than Sherlock seemed to be used to, a sounding-board for his astonishing thought processes. And the way Sherlock smiled at him when he’d helped solve a case… that was more than enough reward. With Sherlock, his heart pounded, his throat went dry and he found it hard not to laugh out loud - and Sherlock, too, seemed to share this dizzying happiness. They made an excellent team and revelled in the warm glow of their successes together, and John had to admit, though he was surrounded by gruesome murders most of the time, it was the happiest he’d ever felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think my London geography is accurate - if it's not, I apologise!


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas approaches, and John is leaving Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Fellshish, who I’m sure knows where I got the inspiration from for this chapter - although I would never be such a scrooge!!

Bundled in a hundred layers on a bitingly cold morning in early December, John felt the rumble of an unnatural monster beneath his thighs propelling him towards an ominous fate. The rumble, of course, was a cab, and the ominous fate a week-long pre-Christmas family gathering at his parents’ house. He’d hailed the cab from outside 221B after an hour spent trying to appease a grouchy Sherlock, before he’d given it up as a lost cause. The man was indecipherable more often than not, and the cause of today’s miserable mood remained an enigma to John.

However inscrutable he was, though, he felt an unexpected pang at leaving the home he had built with Sherlock over the last month. With Christmas drawing closer, the prospect of sharing the season with his unusual found family in Baker Street had been a thought of comfort to John. He had never particularly enjoyed painfully forced socialisation with his blood relatives and so usually was filled with dread from the first time he heard Mariah Carey sing “All I Want For Christmas Is You” each year. But this December, no such feeling had surfaced; the only similar emotion he had experienced was that which he was feeling now, speeding through bleak streets towards the south London suburb where his parents lived. _Turn back_ , a voice deep inside him whispered, no louder than the winter wind whipping at the cab windows. _Turn around, get out, go back. You’re speeding away from where you belong at 70mph, further and further by the minute. Turn this cab around as soon as you can. Everything you want is where you’ve just come from._


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A taxi home from a case sets the scene for tension between Sherlock and John.

“You’re a bloody idiot, Sherlock. You just throw yourself into danger without thinking. You’ll end up killing yourself!”

“Sometimes that’s the only way to get the case solved.”

“Or just the quickest. I’ve seen enough soldiers waste their lives, I can’t have you be one more! Half the time I think you can’t be trusted on your own at all. I even cut short my stay with family because I was worried you wouldn’t feed yourself the full week I was gone!”

“You think I can’t live without you? Oh, John, you do think highly of yourself, don’t you. You left your family early because the ongoing struggle between your feelings of obligation and hatred towards them were unbalanced, probably due to an argument. Don’t lay that guilt at my door!”

“I wasn’t even there long enough to have an argument! Why can’t I have anyone in my life that plays a more significant role than you?!”

“Your social life is hardly my concern.”

“It is when I don’t have one, because I spend all my bloody time worrying about what you might do next. You have no idea!”

“I can look after myself, I did before you came and I will continue to do so when you leave.”

“Leave?”

  
“Yes. When you leave.”

“Why… why would I leave?”


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late-night ride home from a stake-out shows Sherlock's softer side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter on the coach home, and I would like to ironically dedicate it to the child who stared at me the whole time I was typing this, as if he'd never seen a laptop before. Mind your own business, kid.

Even the busiest shopping streets in London’s West End are deserted at 3am. As their taxi sped along the usually packed roads around Piccadilly Circus, John admired the eerie emptiness of the shops, lights still on, but no customers, no staff. It felt as if they were completely alone.

John turned to Sherlock, to see what he made of the scene - no doubt he had a head full of deductions from the scene he would love to unburden on an impressed listener. But a surprise met John’s eyes; Sherlock was silent and still, his head nodding, his eyelids drooping. They had been on a stake-out for hours, and of course, Sherlock hadn’t slept before, in case it slowed down his mental processes. Mental being the correct word for him, probably, John thought, shaking his head.

He couldn’t deny his affection for the other man at this moment, though. As Sherlock dozed off, and the magical Christmas lights that decorated Regent Street danced across his pale face, he was so soft. He felt himself drawn to Sherlock despite the resting state of his mind - he saw the texture of his skin, the gentle waves of his hair, his elegant yet relaxed frame. This should be uncomfortably close to another man… but it wasn’t. In truth, he only wanted to be as close as possible to the man whose fragility was, in this moment, so apparent.

John glanced out of the window again, and saw them pass the famous advertising screens and cherub statue of Piccadilly Circus roundabout. The gentle turning motion of the cab caused the sleeping detective to fall against his shoulder. The familiarity of London and the man gently resting on his shoulder gave him all the warmth and comfort of a home he hadn’t realised he’d been seeking. Sherlock trusted John totally in that moment, and John finally understood what should have been obvious all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I'll try and upload the final chapter this evening.


	6. + One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally talk to eachother about their feelings. But this is Johnlock, so naturally there’s miscommunication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read along, commented, left kudos, or liked, reblogged or commented on tumblr. It’s been great fun to write something short and sweet - which has turned into something a little longer in this chapter. I didn’t want to rush this last, beautiful scene. I hope you enjoy the ending, leave me a comment and let me know what you thought!

“Why are we walking? This is tedious. And muddy.” Sherlock’s shoes were sinking into one of thebrownish expanses of grass that made up Regent’s Park. They were heading to Lestrade’s house for Boxing Day dinner and drinks, with Sherlock only having been convinced to go when he’d been promised they would be discussing important casework somewhere between the traditions and social niceties of the festive season.

“You should’ve worn shoes built for the weather, you idiot. And, after Christmas, everything moves slowly. It’s nice to take the time to see the sky and feel the wind on your face. Time to be calm, to rest, to relax, to think. To reflect on this year and look forward to the next one. We have plenty of time to get there.”

“Are you a poet, now, John? God knows your blog posts are over-romanticised enough, I don’t think the world is ready for your poetic debut. Say what you mean, you know I don’t have time for such flowery language.”

“Well, there is something, actually, that I had been meaning too, um. Say. Discuss. Talk over, with you.” Sherlock was intrigued. The unsteadiness in John’s voice was a departure from his usual clipped military manner of speaking - the doctor augmented his language with complex metaphors and unnecessary vocabulary, but usually he knew what he wanted to say and he said it. Today, he was unsure of himself. He was nervous, and that meant one of two things; he was going to say something which made him emotionally vulnerable, or, more likely, it was about something that he thought might upset Sherlock.

“Something you wanted to talk to me about? What is it, what have I done? Was it that mess in the kitchen? I can pay for anything damaged of yours - call it a late Christmas present.” Sherlock hoped that he could ease John’s embarrassment and annoyance at him if he smoothed the problem over as quickly as possible. He could see where this was going: John was going to move out.

“The mess? You mean the _explosion_? Mess is an understatement and a half! But no, it’s not about that. Although you can buy me a new set of soup bowls. This is about…us. You and me. Us living together, solving cases together. Our… situation. Working as a team, living as friends, or partners, I don’t know what. I can’t carry on with things as they are. My feelings - my feelings have changed towards you.”

“Do you have another place lined up?”

“What?” John was completely thrown. His mind really did work at a snail’s pace. This conversation should be dealt with as quickly as possible, so that John would resent him less. He’d already driven John away, after all. No point twisting the knife in the wound.

“Another flat. To move to. After you move out of 221B.”

“I’m not… well, I can find somewhere pretty short notice. Stop over for a few nights with Stamford for the time being, if I need to go that quick. I hope it hasn’t made you too uncomfortable around me, I know this must be difficult for you, and I never meant for this to happen, to feel this way towards you-”

“It’s perfectly natural. Happens all the time.”

“Well, when you go around with cheekbones like that, I suppose it must.” John sighed, and he didn’t look very pleased considering he’d just been released from the hell of living with Sherlock. “I hope we can still be good friends, even if you don’t want anything more.”

Wait. That didn’t tally with Sherlock’s deductions. “More? John, I… I want you to stay. You’re my only friend, better than a friend. I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“I know this friendship is important to you, Sherlock. It is to me, too. If we both work together, we can get past this and remain friends. I’m sorry to have put this bump in the road for us, but you don’t choose who you fall in love with, do you?”

“In… in love? So, you aren’t moving out because you’ve had enough of me, but because you are… you have… feelings?” Sherlock blinked. He’d stopped dead in his tracks, and his mind was spinning. “Who are you falling in love with? Why haven’t I met her?” John wasn’t seeing anyone, that he knew of. Was he now hiding his girlfriends from Sherlock, the world’s only consulting cockblock?

“Um, Sherlock… you were the one who demanded I move out the minute I started talking about my feelings. There is no “her”. There’s just you, who I most definitely have not had enough of. Are you ok?” John’s sympathetic eyes rested on Sherlock’s face, which was twisting in confusion.

“I was wrong!” He shouted to the entire park. Several fellow walkers looked in their direction, frowning. “I was wrong John, my deductions were incorrect!”

Usually when Sherlock was wrong about something, he was full of irritation, and fell into a terrible mood. Yet as he shouted about this failure, and he was grinning broadly at John, who blatantly had no idea what was going on.

“Sherlock? I don’t understand. What were you wrong about?”

“You, John Watson! Always full of surprises. I can never full figure you out. I thought you were telling me you’d got fed up of me and wanted to move out, possibly even stop being friends. But am I right in saying that this hypothesis was incorrect?”

“Fed up of you?” John started to laugh. The low chuckle pleased Sherlock to his core. He loved to make John laugh, even if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done that was so funny. “Well I won’t deny that you’re an annoying arse most of the time. But somehow, yes, I’ve started feeling completely the opposite of hatred towards you. You’re a complete dickhead, but somehow I think… I’m pretty sure actually. I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“And you thought you’d just told me that?”

“Um, yes?”

“And you thought my reaction upon hearing that would be to demand you move out?”

“Um… yes.”

“You are even more of an idiot than I ever could have suspected, John Watson.” And then Sherlock kissed him. It was just a nervous touch of lips, quick, unsure. But the moment their lips parted it seemed as natural as breathing to bring them back together, learning the geography of eachothers’ mouths, their lips blossoming with warmth after being exposed for so long to the cold winter breeze.

They finally drew apart as John’s phone began to ping angrily. He pulled the phone from his pocket, reluctant to take his eyes of Sherlock’s face, which carried a loving heat directed at John.

“Message from Lestrade. He says ‘where are you, the potatoes are getting cold.’ We’ll have to go.”

Sherlock looked away. Leaving the quiet of the wintery park and plunging back into the company of people they knew was the last thing he wanted. John Watson, so embarrassed about his feelings, would surely want to keep this between the two of them.

“We have to go, Sherlock, come on,” he encouraged, when the detective showed no signs of movement.

“I… can I not have five more minutes. Two. Just a little longer, with you?”

“It’s dinner, not the end of the world, you idiot. You can have however long you like with me, when we get home.” He took Sherlock’s hand, and pulled.

“People will see. People will talk.” He looked guiltily at their joined hands.

“I hope they do. It’ll stop them eyeing you up in the street, hopefully, if they know you’re unavailable,” John grinned. “Hurry up now. I can’t wait to tell Lestrade why we’re late! He’ll have a fit, I’m pretty sure he’s had bets on us from the start. Him and half of Scotland Yard.”

“John.” Sherlock couldn’t quite seem to find the words. “John. You are…”

“An idiot?” John suggested helpfully.

“My idiot.”

Their hands clasped together, they trudged their way through the muddy park to share lunch, and begin a new adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to you all, I hope 2019 is kind to you and brings you lots of great times and quality Johnlock fic!


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